


(i don't have) a script for this

by decideophobia



Series: tumblr fics [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Feels, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, lawyer!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 08:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: (434): do me a favor, I need this weekend off so can you work your magic and blow my boss again?





	(i don't have) a script for this

**(434): do me a favor, I need this weekend off so can you work your magic and blow my boss again?**

Scott comes skidding into the room, barely avoids slamming into the next wall with his phone clasped firmly in his hand. He has this look on his face that means he wants something, and that something is most likely something Stiles won’t like. 

“Dude,” Scott starts, and comes to sit down next to him on the couch. “Buddy. Bro.”

“Do you think you have Syphilis again? ‘Cause if you need me to check you know you don’t have to butter me up for it,” Stiles says as he caps his highlighter. As far as boundaries go, they maybe only have a handful left that they both swore not to cross, and seeing each other naked isn’t one. 

“Aww, that’s actually sweet of you,” Scott says, smiling brightly. He pats Stiles’ shoulder in gratitude, before his face gets all serious. “I need a favour.”

“Lay it on me.”

Scott squirms a little, eyes flitting down to his phone, and not coming up to meet Stiles’ again. It’s cute how Scott still seems to have reservations about asking Stiles for something, as if there’s anything Stiles wouldn’t do for him. Yet, Scott’s moral compass is far straighter than Stiles’, so Scott stalling means it’s something he’s not entirely comfortable asking for. On the other hand, he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, so Stiles doesn’t have any qualms about it.

“Do you need me to get rid of a body?” Stiles prompts, lifts both eyebrows when Scott starts spluttering indignantly. 

“No of course not.” Scott takes a deep breath. “I need this weekend off, so I wondered if maybe you could just work your magic, and blow my boss again?”

“You want me to ask Derek to give you the weekend off?” Stiles repeats, trying to hide his amusement.

“No, I’ll ask him myself. I just thought--he’s so _mellow_ after he’s been with you, you know, I think you somehow--” Scott waves a hand around, lost for words.

“Bewitch him with my blowjob magic?” Stiles offers helpfully, and Scott shoves at his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” he says with a pout. “He’s been pissy and snappy all week. If I ask him now, he’ll probably strip the flesh right off my bones.”

Stiles quirks a brow. It’s always been amusing to him how Derek seems to put the fear of god in Scott; how Scott keeps describing him as this mostly douchebag lawyer who apparently has a personal vendetta against everything animate as well as inanimate. 

“He’s not so bad, and you know it,” Stiles points out, crosses an ankle over his knee, and slouches a little deeper. “You should hear him talk about you. If I had to draw a picture of you by his description alone, I’d probably draw a rainbow riding unicorn that shoots sunbeams out its ass.”

Scott stares at him with doubt written all over his face. “Yeah, right.”

Stiles puts his hands on Scott’s shoulder, squeezes lightly. “You’re awesome. Derek knows that.” 

He gets up then, lifts his arms over his head to stretch, before he throws some stuff into his bag, and slings it over his shoulder. “See you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“To work my magic,” Stiles says winking, pushes his tongue into his cheek. 

Scott waves him off, rolling his eyes.

________

Derek’s at home for a change, although he’s still working when Stiles gets there: files, papers, documents spread out across his kitchen table around his laptop. There’s an empty pot of coffee on the counter which means Derek’s probably forgotten to eat again. He’s still in slacks, and a white shirt, but he’s lost the tie; the top buttons of the shirt undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Derek’s chewing on a pen, glasses sitting low on his nose while he looks something over when Stiles enters the room.

“You never catch a break, do you?” Stiles asks, depositing his bag on the floor. Derek looks up at him, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. It makes him look younger, less stressed, and Stiles likes that; likes that he can make Derek look like that.

Derek takes the pen out of his mouth. “I don’t really have time,” he answer, pushes the glasses up his nose, and god, he looks devastating.

“I can leave if this is a bad time,” Stiles offers, but Derek simply flips his laptop shut, and walks over to him. 

He winds his arms around Stiles’ waist without hesitation, pulls him close, and closer, brushing his lips softly against Stiles’. It’s sweeter than Stiles is willing to admit, makes his heart race stupidly.

“I always have time for you,” Derek says, close enough still that Stiles feels his lips moving against his mouth.

His heart skips excitedly at that; Derek’s words leaving heat pooling in Stiles’ stomach. 

“I like the sound of that,” he mutters against Derek’s lips, before he captures them in a kiss. Derek melts into him, a soft sigh slipping out when Stiles cards his fingers through his hair. 

There’s a sort of devastating tenderness in the way Derek touches him each and every time: soft kisses trailed all across Stiles’ skin; fingertips tracing feather-lightly along the planes of his shoulders, his ribs, his stomach; as if Derek’s exploring the topography of Stiles’ body, and committing it to his memory, every single, tiny detail of it. Stiles thought Derek would be aggressive rather than spending an indefinite amount of time getting Stiles worked up like this, slow but steady, unrelenting nevertheless. It’s not to say that Derek’s isn’t sometimes, demanding, impatient that is, pushing all of Stiles’ buttons with terrifying ease, driving into him hard, fast, relentless. Either way, he always fucks Stiles within an inch of his life, and Stiles is nothing if not appreciative.

As it is, he heaves himself off Derek, flopping down face first next to him. There’s a sheen of sweat on Derek’s face, his neck, his collarbones, and he’s wiping Stiles’ spunk off his chest, and stomach with a Kleenex. When Derek settles back down next to him, his whole body relaxed, pliant, Stiles starts tracing random patterns on his chest with his fingers until Derek catches his hand, entwines their fingers. He presses a kiss to Stiles’ knuckles, rests their joined hands over his heart.

It’s a kind of intimacy Stiles has always looked for in his relationships, but it’s never made him feel quite like this before: quiet, anchored, safe...secure. 

Derek loops an arm around his waist, draws Stiles closer, and Stiles could stay like this forever. He stretches a little, plants a kiss on Derek’s shoulder, before he settles in again. When he looks up to meet Derek’s gaze, he remembers that he didn’t come on his own behalf this time, and suddenly, it feels weird. Like he’s using Derek. Like maybe this is how Derek sees what they have: mutually beneficial orgasms.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks, absentmindedly running his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles. 

“Why would you think anything’s wrong?” he asks, tries to be casual, and inconspicuous about it, but Derek smiles mildly, like he always does when he’s seen right through him. Apparently, Stiles can’t lie to him. Maybe it’s because Derek’s line of work that makes him detect lies easily, even though Stiles is a good liar. 

“You’re never that quiet unless something’s bothering you.”

Stiles feels treacherously excited about the fact that Derek picked that up about him. 

“‘s nothing,” Stiles tells him, wondering how he could best bring up the topic of Scott getting the weekend off. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, and let Scott handle this himself. He even said he’d ask, so. 

“You know you don’t need an excuse to come see me, right?” Derek finally says. He’s not meeting Stiles’ eyes, looking up at the ceiling instead.

“What?” 

Derek lets out a shallow sigh. “You always find an excuse when you come see me,” he explains carefully, still avoiding Stiles’ gaze like he’s afraid to see something he won’t like. “And I don’t know if it’s because you think I don’t want you around, or if it’s because you want to make a point that you wouldn’t come if you didn’t have a reason to.”

Stiles sits up to have a better view of Derek’s face, and Derek finally looks at him, steady, but with a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Do you want me around?” Stiles asks.

Derek squeezes his hand. “I want you around all the time,” he says. “I thought the taking you out for lunch, the cooking you dinner, and sending you flowers made that painfully obvious.”

Stiles feels his mouth falling open as he thinks back to all those instances, even remembers Scott groaning about how Stiles is dating how boss now, but he’d waved it off thinking it was a joke when--when it wasn’t. He’s just been too dense to realize it wasn’t. 

“We’ve been dating,” Stiles says in awe, and Derek smiles his tiny, satisfied smile that makes Stiles see stars. “Oh my god, you were romancing me, and I didn’t even realize.”

“You sure a career in law enforcement is the right path for you, Deputy?” Derek’s smirking now.

Stiles digs the fingers of his free hand into his side until Derek’s squirming, but he’s grinning fondly down at him, feeling happy, and carefree in a way he’s rarely felt before. Derek pulls him down against his chest laughing, free hand coming up to cup the back of his head, and kisses him, deep and something fierce; it makes fireworks go off behind Stiles’ eyelids. 

________

Scott gets the weekend off, and Stiles finds out that the fastest way to get Derek all hot and bothered under the collar, is to call him counselor Hale.


End file.
